The Agent and The Auror
by Christina Sana
Summary: A murderer with a crusade against muggles drives MI6 agent Hannah Longbottom into the wizarding world, and towards her unlikely cover- Neville Longbottom, the auror-turned-professor posing as her husband. Worlds collide, prejudices surface, magic lingers and hearts change, as they race to stop the murderer before he strikes again.


CHAPTER ONE: THE MISSION

 _They met as kids. His parents were sick and hers weren't in the picture—divorced and both very busy—and their grandmothers shopped at the same corner shop. They used to draw hopscotch squares on the pavement in front of the store while their grandmothers were inside. Eventually one thing led to another, and old women asked each other over for tea; hopscotch squares decorated sidewalks in Hampstead. And then another thing led to another and he moved away. Years later and miles away, he paused before entering a shop, the image of two children hopping down a sidewalk transporting him back to a memory. He couldn't know for sure, but took a chance and penned a quick letter to 23 Flask Walk, London. The original tenant had passed on, but her granddaughter had taken over the place; she wrote back. For two years they'd sent letters. Then, on his summer holiday from the boarding school where he taught, they met in Edinburgh for a weekend. The years fell away, and they got on as well in person as they did in on paper. They eloped that fall. She rented out her place in London and moved up to Scotland, to rent a little room, above a little pub, in a little town near his school. And they lived happily ever after._

"Someone must've had a heyday writing all these."

Hannah Abbott nodded to the stack of crinkled letters sitting in the crisp manila folder on her boss' desk. The man himself—Alex Younger, Chief of the SIS, agent responsible for every other agent in MI6 with the wisdom and graying hair to prove it—nodded, not without humor. "The analysts fought over them. As well as who would get to forge the images of Edinburgh. And the wedding."

She smiled at the humor in his voice. "I hope it was tasteful?"

"Since there's not really family in the picture for either of you—pun intended—it was a destination wedding. Cliffs of Moher—come on, you can't beat the cliffs at sunset. Some of his oldest friends were there, and your coworkers. Yours truly gave you away. Brown envelopes with your new monogram, filled with wild rose seeds as a wedding favor."

She tilted her head. "Never thought I'd be much for florals."

"You're not; he is. Herbology professor, after all."

Hannah swung one of her ankles to rest on her other knee, settling back into the chair and flipping through the rest of the file. Everything else was there: the marriage license, her offer of employment at the Leaky Cauldron, some pictures of a wedding overlooking wild cliffs and the crashing sea, all strategically in silhouette or from a distance so faces were indistinguishable. She pulled the identification forms out, and flipped through them. Hannah Longbottom. There wasn't so much a ring to it, as there was a poetic perfection. That would be analysts coming through again. "I suppose it's poor manners to say 'botany'."

"Manners aside, you would never: you're a woman in love."

 _And for the second time this year, too._

They kept their conversation light, dealing with the niceties of their job rather than the necessity of it. Necessity being the polite way to say 'the Ministry of Magic still can't be bothered to deal with homicide if it just affects humans— _Muggles,_ as they'd say—and enough people have died by the hand of this raving lunatic that we're pulling rank and sending someone in.' It wouldn't be Hannah's first time working with the Ministry, but that didn't mean she was anticipating the repetition.

Once you were high enough in the SIS, you knew about wizardry. Unfortunately, it usually wasn't because a witch charmed the night air to make it a snowy Christmas Eve…more often than not, it was a woman screaming because her hand had been splinched by a thief grabbing her purse and apparating while she still clutched it, or a child being rushed to the hospital because they'd ingested what they thought was a regular candy, only for their hair to turn purple and their fingers to swell to the size of cucumbers. That kind of familiarity hardly bred warm regards. Personally, her preference was for a governing body that looked out for all of its constituents, not just the ones born to hold wands.

She leaned forward from her slouching position to tuck the forms into the back pocket of her dark jeans. Hannah Longbottom. Blushing bride of Hogwarts professor and soon-to-be seating hostess at the Leaky Cauldron. Woman in love, Younger had said. "That goes without saying, sir. Have I met the auror before?"

Younger smoothed his hands across the desk. "No…on both counts."

"Both?"

"You haven't met him, no. But he's also not an auror."

Hannah blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"He was, but he's retired."

 _Retired. At 30?_

There were only two reasons people retired from their line of service: inadequacy and lunacy. She really wasn't sure which she preferred. Trying not to let her mind delve for other possibilities, Hannah straightened, her boots sliding to the floor and her back stiffening. "With all due respect, sir, if I'm going to go into this, shouldn't it be with—"

"The best?" her boss interrupted her. "That's what I was promised by the Minister. That's what I promised him, and you know I delivered. I trust he will too."

She was about to move to Scotland, to live in a wizarding town, by a wizarding school, surrounded by wizards, and the Ministry couldn't even spare an active Auror. She studied the man in front of her, trying to read how he was feeling about her odds. He'd said she was the best, and it wasn't without pride that she knew he meant it.

Hannah had graduated with honors from the Royal Air Force College, and never left the service. She'd sought distinction in every possible field, and MI6 hadn't as much been her end goal as it had been the automatic culmination of her career. The fact that, three years in, she was sitting at the desk of a man whose personal phone number was one of the seven non-Royal numbers that the Queen had memorized, was something some people would call admirable. To Hannah, it was her job.

Her job which meant stepping into the line of danger, and often. Not for heroics, not for justice, but because someone had to do it, and she was better than most. She just usually expected that the people she worked with comprised the top ten percent of that 'most'. Not that they once had, but had since fallen from grace…

There was a sound like an auditorium of people giving a single clap behind her, but it hardly registered with Hannah as she blanched. "Oh for heaven's sake, is he actually a botanist?"

"We actually prefer the term Herbologist."

There was no mistaking the cultured voice from behind her; Hannah inwardly cringed at her own sense of timing. She blew out a breath through pursed lips and stood as Younger himself stood, his eyes on the man who had just entered the room.

"Minister," her boss said cordially, with just enough respect.

Hannah turned, her eyes landing on the Minister of Magic. He was exactly as she remembered. A man of average stature and build, meeting her at eye level—a fact which she remembered had someone disoriented him last time; 5'11" had its advantages sometimes. She'd been surprised the first time Younger had introduced them. Somewhat naively, she'd expected the man, the infamous Minister of Magic, to be the stereotype of an antiquated European dictator, instead of an intelligent and charismatic politician. In the year or so since, she had learned he was indeed a competent and good leader…to his citizens at least. And that distinction was one she had a hard time overlooking.

"Minister," she said, inclining her head slightly. Lots of nodding happened at meetings like these.

 _Do wizards bow? Should I know that? And is it Minister_ of _Magic or_ for _Magic?_

In the times when she'd met the Minister and his aurors before, she had been protection for Younger, not the agent whose mission was hours from beginning.

The Minister nodded to both of them and shook Younger's hand. Hannah moved to stand behind the desk, over Younger's shoulder. The Minister took her vacated seat, and it occurred to Hannah that they'd both gotten what they'd wanted—he had a seat while they stood, and they stood together. She crossed her hands behind her back, and Younger cast a knowing glance over his shoulder at her before sitting. He hated when she got in her 'at attention' stance as she'd retained from her RAF days. She knew it was intimidating, and that it would sufficiently rank her in the eyes of the Minister. Younger was the type that wanted her to be overtly proud of her accomplishments; she was the type that believed that those who mattered, knew of them. The Minister didn't exactly make the cut, in her opinion.

The aforementioned man crossed his knees under his robe.

"I've made all the arrangements at Hogwarts," the Minister announced, "and despite your muggle status, you'll have access to the grounds, as is necessary to properly establish your cover."

Hannah nodded.

Younger nodded.

The Minister nodded.

"I've made all the arrangements for all agents to step down from their pursuit of Ivor Boden unless Agent Abbott or Longbottom are in direct danger," Younger said, pleasantly enough, but the Minister's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"The aurors have the same orders. Although, for curiosity's sake, who decides what constitutes direct danger?"

"Dead or dying," Hannah said, honestly. Would she like to know that her agents were running active surveillance of the pub, or at least the train station? Absolutely. But if that security meant just as many aurors breathing down her (muggle, thank you very much) neck, she would forgo it.

The Minister raised an eyebrow, then nodded.

She nodded.

Younger nodded.

Resisting the urge to tack a 'for curiosity's sake' to the front on her question, Hannah continued "I understood, though, that my cover is as the professor's wife. What credence does my presence at Hogwarts give?"

This time, the narrowing of his eyes was unmistakable, and the Minister glanced quickly between the two agents, as if he wasn't sure the question was legitimate. "It would prove your status."

"My status…as his wife?"

"As a wizard."

"That was never up for discussion." Younger's interjection was harsh and immediate.

The Minister gave a cough of a laugh. "How else do you think she could integrate into the community to search out for whatever clues you think your people will find? Boden's MO is that he targets muggles; you think the fact that she's marrying in would save her from that distinction?"

"That was never on the table," Younger repeated.

"Table or not, it's the only way it can be done. If I'm to let muggles into our affairs, it has to be in a way that won't end prematurely. This is the only way."

He was right, of course.

That didn't mean she liked it. Her hand brushed Younger's shoulder as she lifted it to tuck some of her dark hair behind her hair. Her hair was fine, but Younger got the message—it was fine, she'd handle it.

"So, I have access to this school. Is that really going to convince anyone of my…heritage? Can't I just show a diploma saying I'm a transfer student from…" she hesitated, coming up empty, "I don't know, there has to be somewhere I could transfer from."

"You really shouldn't joke about matters as serious as this."

She saw Younger freeze and she knew her own expression, no matter how trained, must've registered the impact of the words.

A wizard extremist, Ivor Boden, targeted muggles across Great Britain for no apparent reason. The wizarding enforcement group, ranks filled with people trained to prevent harm of this sort, prioritized most matters over the victims. Reports flooded in to the local police of a hooded man muttering an unknown tongue into a crowd, and people falling over without explanation. They started a file after the first incident, asked for an audience through the Prime Minister's portrait after the third. Demanded an audience after the sixth. The seventh kept over a dozen people alive in the middle of a music festival, contorting to a sick dance like marionettes, before sirens startled Boden, and the people fell, released from their agony to death. The eighth was at a rural school, a teacher and his sixteen students. Younger broke into the Prime Minister's office and held a lighter at the corner of the painting; a three-inch whole had burned into the canvas before the Minister condescended to come through it.  
Hannah bit her tongue.

"You don't need to remind me of the severity," she said steadily.

The Minster shook his head quickly. "Yes of course." He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, having the grace to look somewhat guilty for speaking without considering their perspective. "You need to be able to access Hogwarts because no muggles can see it on their own. Wards protect it from their sight, and also from the average wandering foot. It's the most subtle and effective way to prove your, as you said, heritage."

If it was an olive branch, it was one that had been through a chipper, but Hannah took it.

"And if I can convince people that I come from magic when I'm at a school of magic, I can convince anyone."

"What could go wrong," Younger muttered.

He had been reluctant to let Hannah accept this mission. Just because she was the most qualified didn't mean it was easy to send his best agent into this plane of unknowns. She did appreciate his stoic-ness, even when it manifested itself in sarcasm rather than concern.

"Under the watchful eye of one of our own, Neville Longbottom."

It was odd to hear someone else say his name. Especially since her mind had already been turning over her new identity, and when she heard the Minister say it, the part of her that was preparing to be Hannah Longbottom said _oh, that's my husband._

She cleared her throat. "Shouldn't there be a past tense in there somewhere? Or am I allowed to ask why the reason for the switch from Auror to Professor?"

"Same as it is for anyone who leaves this business, or even yours, Miss Abbott: you live in fear of recognizing the faces of the dead you roll over, and grow wary of the inevitable day when you'll recognize the retreating guilty."

It was a poetic answer, and not untrue, but it wasn't the Minister's.

When the Minister had apparated in, it had been with a resounding bang to serve as rudimentary fanfare. Professor Longbottom's apparation was accompanied by a mere pop, a quiet and unpretentious announcement of a man who served his own fanfare.

 _So this is to be my husband for the three months._

He was the kind of man you didn't notice until he was ready to be noticed, then you wondered how on earth he'd managed that. Tall, dark hair and light eyes; a face that wasn't classically handsome, but strong. His eyes reflected the sort of inner decency, kindness, and intent awareness that his voice portrayed.

 _You don't seem like an Auror or a professor._

Maybe the sort of Auror that would wait in the cold, outside a wizard prom—did they have wizard proms?—and make sure everyone got home safely. Or who became an auror to defend and protect, not attack; who would hold his ground against an attacker, but only take the offensive when he knew someone else was in danger. The kind that felt the weight of each life he took, rather than the calculation.

Maybe the sort of professor that asked and remembered each name, and only called it when he knew they had the answer. Or who noticed when a student was having a rough day, and would charm their plant to be especially receptive to their care. The kind who doesn't quite realize that half his students were in love with him, the other half wanted to be his best friend, and every single one of them swelled with pride when he congratulated them on a job well done.

 _Okay, so I can see it._

Younger was focusing very hard on not looking like he was trying to read her thoughts. Hannah noticed the Minister was doing the same thing to Neville.

Before the RAF, Hannah's classmates had been London Season Debutantes; her humble beginnings kept her from joining their ranks, but she could exemplify a deb's attitude and mannerisms with the best of them. She didn't have to play his wife just yet, but after her blunt question and his frank answer, graciousness was in order.

So she smiled, walked around the desk and held her hand out to him. "Hannah Abbott. I hope you don't make a habit of honorifics?" she asked politely, referring to the 'miss' he'd put in front of her name earlier.

He took her hand and shook it courteously, and yet when he smiled, Hannah read something in his eyes that surprised her: he knew.

He saw that she was playing the part already, for the benefit of both their superiors, and whatever levity had come with his answer to her first question, it was banished by the amusement in his expression.

She didn't know why that surprised her—he had been an Auror, after all, and was probably better than most at reading people—but usually people went along with the Deb thing. They weren't diverted by it.

"I hope you don't either," he was saying, "I have a hard enough time realizing that when my students keep repeating 'Professor', they're talking to me."

So of course he'd counter with the same level of ridiculously inane banter.

She took back her hand and clasped it in her other in front of her. "Hannah and Neville, then?" she asked cheerily, her diction as close to satire as she could manage.

"I was going to suggest just that," he said jovially.

He continued the charade, and Hannah wondered if either of their superiors recognized it. For a moment they continued their caricature-esque beaming at each other, and then Hannah took a step back, her smile calming from brilliant to comfortable, almost real, and lowering her hands.

"If you'd have said 'splendid' I think I would've lost it," she admitted, her voice dropping what felt like an octave to her natural timbre.

It was no surprise at all when Neville's smile and arms did the same. It _was_ a surprise that his voice lowered still, and that his posture, though its rigidity left, lost none of its height. "I thought about it, but couldn't decide between that and 'marvelous'."

 _Nice to meet you, Neville Longbottom._

A week ago, Younger had pulled her off the case she'd been on, told her to go home, pack as many wool sweaters as she had, and find those wellingtons from when she'd worked a job out in the Thames Valley. And to get some rest; he was planning a long job for her. She'd known, rather than been told, that it would be the Ivor Boden case.

And now here she was, in Alex Younger's office, shaking hands with an auror-turned-botonist who would be her cover.

She turned back to the desk and gave an affirming nod to Younger. He visibly relaxed.

Three months in Scotland. Three months as the wife of a boarding school professor. Three months up to her ears, no, over her head, in magic. Three months of seating-hostess by day, espionage by night. Three months pretending she was something she wasn't, and that she wasn't what she was. Three months to catch a murderer.

Neville asked if she had a bag; she indicated to her brown duffel by the fireplace. He swung it over his shoulder, shook Younger's hand. The Minister left as he'd come, with a bang. Neville left, through the fireplace, throwing glittering powder into the flames and stepping confidently into them. One last look at the office. One last look at Younger.

"Semper Occultus," he recited the SIS motto reverently, like a blessing.

"Semper Occultus," she repeated, quietly, like a goodbye.

Then she turned from the man, from the room, from the Muggle world, threw a handful of powder into the fire, and stepped into the flame.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know, I know, I have two stories out and neither are complete, yet here I am, starting a new one. Honestly though, there a few characters for whom I want a good story and a happy ending as much as I do for Neville. A few notes about this AU: Hermione obviously isn't the Minister yet; I know she'd never let murder slide. Hannah doesn't have any magic in her, and she's also a brunette! Also, this is not an actual marriage AU—they will not be forced to marry/share a bed/fall in love to save wizardkind. In fact, this is a story about muggles, and the wizard setting and characters are means to that end. In case you can't tell, I feel very strongly about JKR's portrayal of Muggle/Wizard relations, but I'll try to keep that lowkey. Anyways, do you like Hannah? Did you read it in an accent? Do I write the inner workings of spy agencies well (lololol)? Did I do alright by Neville? Please review :)


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